I’ve often thought of Netflix’s “Orange Is The New Black” as the female version of HBO’s great prison series, “Oz,” except it’s not as bleak or dark. That is, until season 2, which saw “Orange” seemingly take a turn for the less cheery.
Since I am antithesis to the prototypical Binge Watcher, I just now got around to watching episode 8 of season 2, even though Netflix made this available wayyy back. I don’t like to barge through broadcast series. It’s like food. One must watch slowly and deliberately with mindfulness. I watch shows slowly so as to absorb and savor them.
Anyways, episode 8 had a small scene which I found hilarious, and the person I was watching with raised an eyebrow at me because my renown causes much amusement on the part of all my acquaintances.
I refuse to text. I think texting is the low point of human civilization. Texting is horrible. It is for women and homo’s.
In this scene from the show, two characters who might have a thing going on (of a sexual nature), Joel Luschek, the cynical and disheveled prison electrician, and Susan Fischer, a young, green correctional officer, have a short dialogue which cascades into a subject that reminds my friends of…me.
(And since Youtube is a bunch of faggots, I chose to merely lay the audio track to a still photo and call it a “video.” If I upload the clip, Youtube’s mighty anti-piracy forces will make my membership bothersome and annoying. The audio and still photo of Luschek and Fischer should be enough…use your imagination.)
Right on, Luschek. My kinda guy.
Everyone in my sphere knows how I feel about texting. I discontinued my text plan long ago. It is a pointless and distracting waste of time. A phone is for talking, and frankly, I hate doing even that. A phone is distasteful for this reason. It represents your pathetic social life, embodied as a plastic monkey in your pocket, following you, which is bad enough if you have to talk, but 10 times worse if there is texting involved. Write a fucking letter, or an email. I refuse to sit there with my face glued to a phone, typing away on a lame touchscreen with the small of my fingertips. Forget that shit. I don’t need to be connected to people so much.
The whole texting thing is so passive and half-minded and indulgent.
Call me, write me a real letter, something. Just don’t text. Women love that shit. Texting allows them to be on social call 24/7 and this pleases their little vain selves to no end. The only men who spend a lot of time texting are homo’s.
Be a man, call. Or don’t feel the need to be in touch so readily. You’re like an anxious little bitch.
Your social life can wait. You have something to do in this world and it is be a goddamned rock of strength. You don’t need to be flitting back and forth on a stupid phone playing text games with all your sappy contacts. Be a man. Grow balls. This is why I laugh when I see PUA/Game bloggers talking about “text game.” Text game is pussy bullshit. The only good text game is no text. Men are playing into women’s hands with this texting crap. Luschek is right on the money. Call me or come over. These are my asocial terms.
Now in the interest of resisting blanket statements, I realize there are times when texting might be necessary for a man. But it should be a rare occurrence and a man should not spend his entire day steeped in the texts that splash across his needy little screen.
Do as Luschek!